


Things unearthed

by RowboatCop



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Coulson does not want to be Skye's father, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Skye in charge, Skye only wanted her origin story not a father, post 2x08 scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:05:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2758997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 2x08 -- After finding evidence of a city, Skye and Coulson go up to his office on the Bus. Sexy times happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things unearthed

“That’s impossible,” Coulson declares as he stares at the screen in front of them.

“Very possible,” Skye disagrees, shrugging her shoulders at him and gesturing towards the proof.

“No. That doesn’t exist. There’s nothing in that spot. It’s not on any maps.”

Skye pulls up a Google Maps image and runs over the area around Puerto Rico before expelling a loud breath. Fitz remains silent next to her, just watching the scene unfold.

“It’s underwater,” she announces as she examines the screen again, and Coulson’ doesn’t understand what she’s seeing — he could as well believe that this knowledge came to her out of the blue as he could believe that she’s gathering it from the screen before her.

“Underwater?” Fitz is skeptical, but Skye points to something and he gasps.

“Underground underwater,” Skye clarifies, and Fitz nods.

“Do you think there’s a way in from the surface?”

He addresses the question to Skye even though he’s sure Fitz could figure out the answer, too.

“There must be,” she answers. “If the obelisk got out from this place…”

He nods and holds her gaze for too long a moment, which is broken when Fitz clears his throat.

“So what do we do? Do we go there now?”

“No,” Coulson and Skye answer in unison.

“We go back to base,” Coulson continues.

“There’s nothing we can do now,” Skye clarifies. “We need to find an entrance and have a plan.”

“Right,” Coulson agrees. “We need to strategize.”

There’s a long silence between the three of them — Skye’s tech helpers are quiet as ever standing around the room, blending into the woodwork — and Coulson swallows.

“Fitz, why don’t you take a break. Good work.” Coulson nods encouragingly, and Fitz returns it, still looking haunted as his gaze passes from Skye to Coulson and back, as though he’s watching a tennis match. “Skye, could I see you in my office, please?”

She nods twice and follows him out of the room, Fitz’s eyes on them as they ascend the stairs.

“It was my father, wasn’t it?” She asks before the door shuts behind them.

“Yes.”

“Did he shoot Trip?”

“No. He offered to help save Trip.”

“And did he?”

Coulson swallows, postpones his answer for too long.

“He used it,” she surmises. “He saved Trip, but in a way that made sure he got away.”

“Yes,” Coulson agrees, leaving out the part where her father sliced Trip’s brachial artery. “But he did help save Trip,” he reiterates, trying to emphasize the fact that her father is perhaps not _all_ bad.

She lets out a small, sad laugh at his attempt, and he wonders if he’s projecting his own need for a father onto her. Skye was never looking for a father, after all, only for her origin story.

“He was looking for the city?” Coulson nods. “What did he say about it?”

“That there’s something inside the Diviner. That there’s a temple in the city. That you’ll be at the center of whatever is about to happen.”

“Fun.” She smiles, brittle and tense. “What else?”

“What?”

“What else did he say?”

Coulson can’t decide whether she sounds hopeful or terrified.

“I think he wanted to meet me, specifically,” Coulson admits, still confused about what exactly had happened.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He said he wanted us to get to know each other a bit. He’s worried about...making a good first impression on you.”

“He’s already left quite an impression.”

“That’s what I said. I told him that if he wanted to make a good impression he should get away from Whitehall. I tried to tell him what I thought you’d want.”

“And what did he say to that?”

Coulson grimaces and shakes his head, declining to answer.

“Coulson?”

He swallows.

“He said that _Skye_ isn’t your name. And that I don’t get to tell him what you need because...I’m not your father.”

Skye lets out something like a laugh.

“Thank God for that.”

Her words give him pause; he frowns and slightly narrows his eyes as he tries to figure out what she’s saying.

“What do you mean?”

“That I’m glad you’re not my father?” Like it’s a _duh_ , like there haven’t been situations in which some other agent has suggested that his affection for her is fatherly. “My father apparently gets to decide that my name isn’t my name. And thinks he can decide what’s best for me.”

Coulson swallows, beset by guilt for the times he has failed to bring Skye fully in.

“I —”

“I know.” She nods at him, smiles even though her lower lip looks like it wants to tremble.

“Skye,” he whispers her name as he steps towards her. “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay? My father, who I’ve known about for a month, murders people. My very own HYDRA stalker _promised_ to take me to him. And I’m going to be at the center of something that happens in a temple.” She puts on her sarcastic face, the one she wears when she’s terrified but isn’t going to go quietly, the one he remembers from the day they first met. “You know, historically, I don’t think that works out well for women.”

“Skye —”

“It doesn’t, does it? Being at the center of some sort of ritual at a weird temple?”

She says it like a joke, but it’s too manic and he can read her terror. He’s been burying his knowledge of the fact that Skye has grown increasingly frightened of solving this mystery, and now it hits him in the face. Now that he’s less caught up in what it all means for him, he’s able to step back far enough to think about what it means for her. What it means to have it dumped in her lap that her father _is_ alive, that he’s a murderer, that she might be an alien, and that whatever is about to happen might well put her at the center of the storm.

He steps the rest of the way forward and folds her into his arms.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been so concerned with solving this that I haven’t been thinking about how hard it must be for you.”

She takes a deep breath against the side of his neck and lets out a noise that might be a chuckle or a sob.

“When we go to this place,” he continues, “I want you to stay behind. I don’t want to take you somewhere where he’s admitted he needs you.”

Skye nods into his shoulder, and he’s surprised that she acquiesces so easily. It’s a testament to how bad this is for her, he knows.

“What do you need?” His voice is more desperate on the question than he’d like it to be; he wants to fix this for her _so badly_.

“Pretty much just this,” she answers, tightening her arms around him. “I’m really glad you’re not like him.”

Coulson swallows and frowns at the implication — he doesn’t want to be her ‘good’ dad to balance out her bad one.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t try to play my father,” she answers, and he exhales a breath of relief.

“I don’t want to be your father.” It’s the wrong moment to put this into the air between them, but he also _needs_ it to be there. They’ve been growing so much closer in the past few weeks, and he needs this much clarity between them — when he hugs her, when he touches her arm, when he smiles at walking into his office and finding her there waiting for him, none of that is fatherly.

“Good,” she answers, and tightens her hold on him, rubs her nose against the side of his neck so that the right side of his body erupts in goosebumps.

“Skye,” he sighs her name and clutches at her. “I don’t want to be your father.”

“I get that,” she answers, but he’s pretty sure she actually doesn’t.

“I mean —”

She cuts him off by kissing him softly, and he’s so startled that he can’t even respond. Her lips are soft and sweet against his, tentative in a way that Skye generally isn’t, except about the things that matter the most. It’s over too quickly, and Skye pulls back — he can’t tell if she looks more disappointed or embarrassed.

“Sorry, I —”

Coulson steps forward and kisses her to cut off her backtracking apology, grasping the sides of her face with hands that he knows aren’t gentle enough. His fingertips dig into her hair, and his mouth is rough against hers — demanding, greedy, devouring. She responds with equal force; her fingers press into his back as she tugs his body into hers, and her tongue slips against his.

He pushes her backwards, up against the closed door of his office, again less gently than he knows he should, but he can’t seem to control himself. Skye goes with it easily, though, kissing back and working the buckles on the side of his kevlar vest. He groans in relief when she gets it loose enough to slip off, and then gasps when she grips his shirt and rips it down the front in three sharp tugs, sending buttons popping off in all directions.

“I always wanted to do that,” she mumbles against his mouth, and Coulson laughs as he unbuttons the bottom few buttons and shrugs out of the already-ruined garment. The sight of Trip’s blood, though, staining the sleeves so thoroughly, makes his stomach sink. It feels wrong to be doing this when Trip is injured on top of everything else happening right now.

“Skye,” he whispers as he pulls back, but she doesn’t let him — latches onto the collar of his undershirt and pulls him back.

“Trip will be really happy when I tell him about this,” she informs him, and Coulson swallows.

“I’m not sure —”

“He’s been telling me that you feel the same way as I do.”

“I’m not that obvious, am I?”

His response makes her smile.

“ _I_ couldn’t tell.”

“You couldn’t tell that I’m head over heels for you?”

She smiles at his declaration, too wide and euphoric, and then her smile fades a bit as her eyes dip down to his mouth.

“I didn’t want to read too much into anything,” she admits, quiet and almost sad.

His response is somewhere between a laugh and a moan as she kisses him with renewed zeal, and Coulson pushes his leg between hers so that his knee presses up between her thighs. Skye groans at the pressure and grinds herself down against him.

“This isn’t just because you’re scared, is it?” He manages to pull back for long enough to question her.

“Scared?”

“Of what we’ll find. You’re…” The truth is that he doesn’t understand how she feels and he’s not going to try to tell her. “I don’t want to take advantage of you if you’re feeling vulnerable.”

Skye nods and reels him back into a kiss.

“I’m definitely vulnerable,” she admits, and Coulson tries to pull back, only to be tugged forward by his shirt so that his mouth hovers over hers. “But I _want_ this.” Skye grinds down against his knee again. “I want _you_.”

Coulson closes the tiny gap between their lips, pressing her back against the door as he explores her mouth.

He loses control of himself again as he digs his fingers into her hair, until he feels her hands — warm but tentative — slip under the back of his undershirt and press against the skin of his lower back. Coulson sighs at the welcome feeling and then pulls back, needing to touch her the same way. Somehow, he manages to tug her shirt over her head before Skye is even able to help, and she laughs as she reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra.

It’s when her bare breasts come into view that the reality sinks in — that this is Skye and that this is _happening_. In addition to the reality of _her_ body, Coulson becomes hyper aware of his own — the muscle he pulled in his shoulder trying to get Trip to safety, the sweat that had dried at the base of his spine under his vest, the way his cock is pressed painfully against his zipper, the way his hands literally shake with want.

“Skye,” he whispers her name before he crashes back into her, lips and hands greedy as he dips down far enough to reach her breasts. She’s helpful, thrusting her chest up towards him and dragging her fingers through his hair — little tingling trails where her fingernails meet his scalp as she guides his head where she wants it. He palms the sides of her breasts and drags his thumbs across her nipples as he pulls back to see Skye looking thoroughly debauched, panting and flushed and arched against the door of his office.

Coulson drops to his knees before her and continues kissing his way down her torso, pausing only briefly to rest his forehead against the scars from her gunshot wounds as he unbuckles  her belt. Her jeans and panties get tugged down her legs easily — he only has to break long enough to get her shoes off — so that she’s naked, her legs parted enough that he can see the wetness hidden just beneath the thatch of hair covering her pubic mound.

She is so much more gorgeous than he has ever imagined, and he _has_ imagined. He has beaten himself up for it, has chastised himself and done penance each time the image of her like this has invaded his thoughts, but he has still imagined. And even his wildest dreams have never really done her justice.

Slowly, he slides his right hand up her thigh, lifting it so that she opens for him. Any worries he has about whether this is what Skye wants are silenced when she lifts her leg more and drops it over his shoulder. It’s all the encouragement he needs to dive forward, to press his tongue against her clit before sliding it down and then up inside of her.

Skye tilts her hips towards him and reaches down to cup the back of his head, once again dragging her fingers through his hair as she uses him as both leverage and a source of balance. He braces his hands on her thighs, one sliding up until it rests almost on her butt, and devotes himself to making her come. She’s nearly silent as he thrusts his tongue inside of her, but the hitches in her breathing and her shaking thigh give away her arousal. When she grips the back of his head and pulls him back slightly, though, guiding him up until his tongue slides back over her clit, she moans loudly into the room.

“Like that,” she grunts as he presses his tongue against her, setting a fast pattern, and his reply is just a moan of affirmation as he keeps it up.

She’s not loud, not exactly, but the hitches in her breathing become pitched — quiet grunts and gasps and moans that make his cock throb in his slacks.

“Don’t stop,” she begs then, pressing against the back of his head as though him stopping is a serious concern. Coulson redoubles his efforts, moving his tongue faster and harder as she grinds herself against his face. He can feel it when she comes, her clit throbbing under his tongue and her body shaking with tension as he works her though her orgasm.

“Coulson,” she gasps his name as she collapses backwards, her whole body thudding dully against the door as he pulls back. He grins a little smugly at the way she slides down to the floor, looking winded and exhausted, and he sits backwards as he takes in the sight of her.

“Good, then?”

She rolls her eyes at his smug smirk, and extends her right hand towards him.

“Come here.”

He crawls towards her, smugness gone as soon as she reaches for him, and lets her pull him down into a soft kiss. One brush of lips becomes two and then three, and he moans against her lips as she cups his face in her hands and kisses him more deeply, tugging his body over hers. Coulson keeps kissing her as Skye pulls his shirt over his head and sighs against her lips as her hands smooth down his back and then wiggle between them to work at his belt and zipper.

He groans when she wraps her fist around his cock, his pants pushed just far enough down his thighs to give her room to touch him.

“Skye,” he moans her name into her mouth as she works her hand over him several times. Then she shocks him by pushing him backwards. He’s surprised by the movement and thumps onto his back before she crawls over his supine body, her bare thighs on either side of his hips, his pants still bunched just above his knees

“Yeah?” She asks, as though there’s any chance this isn’t okay, and he nods adamantly.

“Not gonna last,” he warns, and Skye smirks wickedly as she grasps his right hand and tugs it between her legs, positions his index finger over her clit. He nods adamantly as she sinks down on top of him, and they both groan when he’s all the way inside of her.

“Oh,” Skye sighs above him, like she’s found where she’s supposed to be, and then she starts to rock her hips slowly as her hands slide up her torso to cup her breasts.

The visual is a phenomenal addition to the feel of being _inside_ of Skye, and Coulson finds himself almost afraid to blink for what he might miss. She tugs at her nipples as she squeezes down around him, and everything goes blurry as Coulson tries to keep his eyes open.

He moans her name as she moves over him, and barely manages to press tight circles against her clit as she rides him. Her pace increases until she’s rocking over him frantically, and Coulson has to abandon his task in order to grab hold of her hips and thrust up into her. The change is what seems to set her off; Coulson takes over the majority of the movement, and she pants his name in ever higher pitches as her hands grasp her breasts. He can tell how close she is, see it in every tense muscle of her body, and he’s all too aware that he can’t keep this up for much longer.

“Come for me,” he begs her.

She nods adamantly as their hips crash together, and then she goes still on top of him, lips parted as she lets out a barely vocalized breath. Finally, he lets himself go underneath her. His orgasm is almost blinding in its intensity, which isn’t surprising given how long its been since the last time he had one, given how long he’s wanted _this_.

They collapse together onto the floor, Skye sprawled on top of him, both spent and exhausted. And for the first time since it started, Coulson can think of something outside of the existence of their two bodies. She must feel him tense up, because Skye pats his chest gently.

“I’m sure no one noticed. We weren’t very loud.”

He nods at that.

“It’s not that I want to keep this secret,” he tells her, and looks down to meet her eyes as she rolls her neck enough to see him. It occurs to him, then, that he’s not actually sure what she wants out of this. “Assuming that you want —”

“I do,” she answers as though he’s stupid for asking.

“I just want to be discrete.”

“I get it.” She smiles at him as though he’s cute for worrying about it, as though he’s cute for thinking that they wouldn’t be on exactly the same page. “We should get dressed, make a plan.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, though he keeps his arm wrapped tightly around her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she answers, sounding remarkably sure of herself given how upset she was earlier. “This...helps a lot. Knowing that you’re here for me.”

“I’ve always been here for you.” He’s too earnest, and Skye grins at his words.

“Let’s go find a way into that city.” 


End file.
